


The Not Once, Not Ever Future King

by ZellieAlmasy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, M/M, Princes & Princesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8689042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZellieAlmasy/pseuds/ZellieAlmasy
Summary: Loosely inspired by Louis XIV's younger brother. Lorne is the second son of a royal family.  The paranoid King and Queen have raised him like a Princess in hopes he will never plot to usurp his brother, but all Lorne wants is his freedom.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few people told me my OC looks like a Disney Prince, so I thought of what his prince story might be, and I came up with a concept I'm excited to explore!

A fanfare of trumpets reverberated from the courtyard through the castle walls, all the way up to Lorne's chamber, where he had spent the last hour getting dressed. The noise was a signal that he was running late to join his family on the royal procession out to the jousting pitch, but he showed no sense of urgency as he idly gazed over his reflection. He smoothed his hands over his tunic, which was made of powder blue silk brocade with intricate golden weave. Satisfied that it hugged his slender form just right, he leaned in closer to the mirror and ran a brush through his wavy blonde hair, making absolutely certain he looked perfect.

His concentration was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door, which he ignored. He already knew that the others had been waiting on him and most likely sent a messenger to urge him out of his chambers, yet he still didn't care to hurry himself along as he continued preening. Lorne hated these tournaments, and he especially hated celebrating his father's birthday. If he had to suffer through this, then he was determined to at least look his best. 

The knocking came again, this time more urgently, and accompanied by a small voice, “I've a message from Her Majesty the Queen, M’Lord!” 

“Come in,” Lorne responded. He already knew what his mother wanted, but he would hate for the young page to be punished for failure to follow the Queen’s orders. 

As the door slowly cracked open, a timid boy with a ruffled mess of hair peeked into the room. He seemed a bit breathless, which Lorne could only assume was from rushing to quickly carry out his orders. 

“Her Majesty the Queen requests your immediate presence in the courtyard, M’Lord,” the page quickly blurted out. 

Lorne knew the true message underlying the polite request - “Join us now, or there will be consequences.” 

Still, he maintained his nonchalant attitude as he turned away from his reflection to look at the boy. “I'm aware.” Lorne held his arms out to the side and did a slow spin to show off his outfit. “Does this color bring out my eyes? Be honest.” 

The page was clearly taken off guard by the question, but he managed to stammer out a reply, “Y-yes, yes it does, M’Lord!” 

Again, Lorne was already aware of this. He just wanted to stall as long as possible to annoy his family. “Tell her I'm on my way,” he ordered as he turned away to add the final touch to his ensemble. 

The page quickly scurried away as Lorne strapped an ornate rapier to his belt. The sword, of course, was only ceremonial and the blade was as dull as his mother's little messenger. Lorne wasn't allowed actual fencing lessons, but he still enjoyed the elaborate hilt on the sword, which had beautiful silver bands that swirled around the grip in an intricate pattern. 

Just as he had promised the young page, Lorne finally left his chamber, but he still kept walking at a leisurely pace as he made his way down to the courtyard. 

When he finally arrived, his family and the royal guard were already mounted on their horses and ready to proceed. His father King Lothyr and mother Queen Anne were near the front, followed by his brother the Crown Prince Michael, his wife Mariette, their two young children Liddie and Neville, and finally a golden palomino mare who patiently awaited her rider. 

As he approached the horse, Lorne received several annoyed glares from both family and royal guard, which made him smirk quietly as he hoisted himself up into the saddle as if nothing were wrong. 

Michael leaned in close and whispered in a low hiss, “You're late.” 

“Am I?” Lorne feigned surprise. “I had absolutely no idea.” 

Young Neville giggled quietly at his uncle, but Liddie was old enough to understand good court manners, and showing up late was not very proper or funny. She turned to her brother and tried to discourage his behavior with a sharp, “Shh!” 

Now that the family was all gathered and ready, they began their procession down to the jousting pit. The castle was built into a mountainside, which made for secure defenses, but no flat ground for a proper arena. The group had to follow a short road downhill into the valley, where there was enough space to situate the stables and barracks, along with an enclosed, sandy pitch for holding tournaments. 

The procession arrived to find that the court jester had been entertaining the crowd as they waited for the royal family to arrive. Another fanfare of trumpets announced the King’s presence, and the entertainment immediately came to a halt. The audience fell silent and stood in reverence as the royal family dismounted and made their way to a platform situated in the center of the field, opposite from the rest of the audience. The King briefly waved his hand at the crowd as he sat down, and everyone else followed suit. The Crown Prince sat at the King’s right hand, and his own son sat on the end. The ladies sat on the King’s left, beginning with his wife the Queen, down to young Liddie. Lorne begrudgingly sat between his mother and sister-in-law, hating that he had always been forced to sit on the women's side. It made more sense for Michael to sit with his wife and children, but the Queen insisted on tradition. 

The court Herald promptly stepped into the middle of the arena and faced the royal family with a deep bow. He announced in a loud voice, “Welcome, Your Grace, we are humbled by your presence. Let us honor the anniversary of your birth with this grand tournament. The bravest and boldest of warriors have gathered here today in celebration of your 53rd year. We shall begin on your command.” 

The King nodded and clapped his hands, signalling the start of the tournament. The Herald bowed again and stepped aside to announce the first two contestants. The swordsmen trotted their horses to the royal platform and saluted the king before breaking apart to either end of the rink, where they each received a long, wooden lance from a squire. 

Lorne watched in mild interest as the Herald gave the signal to begin. The two swordsmen charged at one another, aiming their lances. The weapons connected, causing splinters of wood to fly through the air. The crowd gasped and applauded, but Lorne didn't seem particularly thrilled. How hard could it be to hit your opponent with a giant stick? Every jousting tournament was exactly the same. It would be much more fun if Lorne were actually allowed to participate. 

Once one of the riders finally fell off his horse, the squires threw swords to the combatants, who then began to spar with one another. At least this part was more entertaining to watch. The swordsmen fought tenaciously, even to the point of drawing blood until someone finally yielded. 

The matches continued one after another, all in the same manner. At one point, Michael left his seat to prepare for his turn in the pitch. The more Lorne watched, the more he felt angry and resentful that he never learned to fight. His lack of defensive skills was the only thing keeping him with his family. It was too dangerous to go out in the world alone, so he was fully dependent on his family for protection. Lorne felt so helpless, and he hated himself for it. 

As he watched spar after spar, Lorne was suddenly hit with an idea. Just because his parents never allowed him to take fighting lessons didn't mean he couldn’t discreetly seek that opportunity on his own. He shifted in his seat, watching the competition more attentively to decide on a potential tutor. 

There was one particularly skilled swordsman who caught Lorne's eye - an older knight with messy brown hair streaked with silver, stubble along his jaw, and a scar that trailed from the bridge of his nose and across his left cheek. Not only did he display great skill with the sword, Lorne figured he ought to be an easy mark that would be susceptible to the Prince’s charm. Most other competitors were young men who would already be sufficiently occupied with younger, attractive admirers. An older veteran like this would mean less competition for Lorne. Plus, the man was actually fairly handsome, in a ruggedly brutish way, which would make seducing him actually enjoyable. With a plan in mind, the Prince suddenly found himself eagerly awaiting the post-tournament festivities. 

Eventually, Lorne's knight lost a match, yielding to Michael, who went on to win the competition. The Crown Prince was far from the most skilled fighter, from what Lorne could tell. In a real fight, he would bet that knight could have bent Michael over his knee and give him a good whooping without hardly breaking a sweat. But these spars could be so intense, everyone feared causing injury to their future king, so they yielded to him every time. 

After the competition ended, the nobles and combatants - at least, the ones not too injured - were invited to the castle’s grand ballroom for a feast in honor of the King. 

Lorne quickly returned to his chamber and eagerly began to change into his evening finery. He chose a deep scarlet tunic in crushed velvet with gold trim and jewels to match. He even dabbed some perfumed oils behind his ears and on his wrists, making sure to look absolutely stunning for the evening. This time, he wasn't late. 

Long tables framed the ballroom, leaving a large open space in the middle for dancers. The royal table was the largest, yet sat the fewest people. It was situated at the end of the hall, on an elevated plateau to allow the royals a clear view of the entire room. Lorne hardly picked at his food as the meal was served. He was too busy scanning the room for his target. 

Some guests chose to remain seated at their tables, while others danced. It was a large mass of people shifting here and there, but the knight was fairly easy to spot, leaning against one of the pillars near the back of the room. Not only did his large, muscular build help him stand out, but his clothes were much more plain than the other guests. He wore a simple brown leather vest over a clean white tunic and crisp black trousers, from what Lorne could see. 

The Prince excused himself from his family and made his way across the ballroom, weaving through the crowd. As he approached the knight, Lorne clasped his hands behind his back and stood beside him. The man seemed even larger up close. Standing at his full height, Lorne only came up to the knight’s chin. 

“How are you enjoying the party?” The Prince leaned in a little closer as he spoke. 

The knight’s eyes widened as he turned to directly face Lorne, answering with a low, respectful bow. “It is a celebration befitting His Majesty.” 

Lorne chuckled softly as he waved his hand dismissively. “Stand up. You can be honest with me. It's painfully dull. You seem to be the only person worth talking to.” 

“You do me great honor, M’Lord.” The knight stood upright again, as instructed. “Though I'm not sure what conversation I can offer that would interest a young prince.” 

“Don't be modest.” Lorne placed a hand on the man's arm. Feeling the bulge of the knight’s bicep through the fabric of his tunic, Lorne's hand purposely lingered. “I noticed you during the tournament. You're very skilled, Sir…?” 

“Guerin. My name is Anwyll Guerin. I am not worthy of your praise, M’Lord. If you noticed me fighting, you'll remember I lost.” 

“To Michael, yes. If you'd actually given him the thrashing he deserves, I bet you could have won the entire tournament.” Lorne subtly inched a little closer as he spoke. 

That comment earned him a slight grin from Anwyll. “I'm not worthy of your flattery M’Lord.” 

“Of course you are!” Lorne insisted, giving him a light jab. “You are a knight, one of the bravest warriors defending our kingdom. In fact…!” The Prince clapped his hands together with wide eyes, pretending as though he just thought of an idea. “Why don't you allow me to show my gratitude for your service?” 

Anwyll held up his hands and shook his head. “Really, M’Lord, that isn't necessary.” 

“Perhaps not, but I make the offer because it would please me, not because it’s required. You must ache after all that combat, and we have ways of helping you relax here in the castle that you could not imagine finding anywhere else.” Lorne gave a sly grin as he looked up at the knight through his lashes. “You'd be mad to decline such a rare opportunity.” 

“I--” Anwyll hesitated, eyes shifting back and forth before settling on the Prince. “I will consider it. Thank you, M’Lord.” 

“You see that serving boy over there?” Lorne pointed towards a servant holding a pitcher of wine. “I'll inform him of our arrangement. Speak to him when you're ready, and he'll show you the way. I do hope you'll accept.” 

With a quick wink, Lorne took his leave from the knight. He approached the serving boy and briefly gave him instructions on where to bring the knight, once Anwyll was ready. 

The Prince then left the party and quickly made his way to the bathing room, where he demanded that the servants draw a hot bath with scented oils and flower petals in the water. They quickly jumped into action and began making the necessary preparations. 

The royal bath was fairly unique, thanks to the mountains surrounding the castle. There was a small aqueduct system that brought water down from the mountain and into a large brass basin in an adjacent room. The basin was situated over a fire, like a furnace, where the water could be heated before flowing into the next room, where stone-carved fountains would fill a large marble tub. There also had a small hole bored into the bottom of the bath, where water could trickle back out onto the mountainside. With this design, water could continually flow from outside, to the heater, into the tub, and then out again, so the royal family could take baths as long as they wanted without having to suffer the pains of dirty, lukewarm bath water. 

While servants began heating and filling the tub, Lorne instructed others to begin arranging candles throughout the room to create a dim, relaxing atmosphere. Once everything was set, Lorne instructed that he was to be disturbed for absolutely no one, except for his honored guest of the evening. The servants left him alone in the room, where the Prince quickly undressed and pulled his hair back with a diamond-studded gold clip before finally entering into the tub. 

Now, all that was left was to relax and hope Sir Guerin decided to take up the offer. Lorne leaned back, resting his arms along the ledge, and stretched his legs out in front of him. Alone with his thoughts, Lorne's mind kept wandering back to his conversation with the knight, and how he felt those strong biceps through his shirt. Lorne couldn't wait to see what other strong muscles Sir Guerin might be hiding under all that armor. Just thinking about it was enough to make Lorne feel a little worked up. He almost considered giving himself a head start, alone in the bath, but a sudden knock on the door pulled Lorne out of his daydream. 

A servant called from the other side, “Sir Anwyll Guerin, M’Lord!” 

“Enter,” the Prince called back, unable to suppress a wide grin. 

The door cracked open and the knight entered the room. However, once he saw Lorne sitting alone in the bath, completely nude, Anwyll suddenly froze and turned away, moving as if to leave. 

“A thousand pardons, M’Lord, I had no idea--” Anwyll quickly blurted out, face turning a slight shade of pink. Lorne took great pride knowing he could make a brave swordsman blush. 

“Please stay,” Lorne urged, shifting to lean forward on the ledge. “I would never have invited you if you weren't welcome to join.” 

“I don't think that's very decent, M’Lord.” Anwyll spoke to the floor, determined to keep his gaze averted. 

The Prince ignored his concerns and continued, “This bath is unlike any you'll ever see. There's a constant flow of hot water, so I really wasn't lying when I promised special treatment.” 

Seeing that the knight still looked hesitant, Lorne continued, before he could protest again. “Come on, Anwyll, I never imagined a big, strong knight would be so afraid of a spoiled little prince. I don't bite.” After a pause, he smirked and added, “Actually, that's a lie. There almost certainly will be biting.” 

Anwyll finally glanced sideways towards Lorne, thoughtfully chewing at his lower lip. The Prince wasn't used to working so hard to get what he wanted. Most people jumped at the opportunity to get in bed - or bath, as it were - with a handsome young royal. He had no idea what would cause Anwyll’s hesitation, even though it was obvious he wanted this. The knight’s trousers did nothing to hide his desire, yet he still attempted to resist. These older knights just had to be so difficult, insisting on manners and chivalry. 

Actually, that line of thought gave Lorne an excellent idea. The Prince slid away from the edge of the tub to lean back against the opposite side, offering Anwyll a somewhat distorted, yet clear enough view through the water. He looked up at the knight with wide, pleading eyes as he softly coaxed, “It wouldn't be very chivalrous to leave me here all alone, left to take care of myself.” 

Just as Lorne had hoped, that was the winning blow that finally disarmed the knight. With a relenting sigh, Anwyll quickly unfastened and shrugged off his vest, carelessly dropping it to the floor. Lorne sat up again, licking his lips as he eagerly watched more skin gradually became exposed. 

Anwyll had a bit of hair over his chest, also speckled with gray, like the hair on his head. It trailed down his abs and past his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his pants. As Lorne appreciated Anwyll’s near-perfectly sculpted form, he noticed a deep scar that cut through the knight’s right side. He almost lost himself in his own daydream, wondering about the stories behind those scars, but as Anwyll began working his trousers off, Lorne quickly snapped back to reality. 

Once Anwyll had removed all his clothing, Lorne didn't bother trying to hide his grin. “And here I thought you would be the one getting special treatment tonight.” 

“I'm afraid Your Highness’ expectations might be too high,” Anwyll chuckled softly as he stepped into the tub. 

“Oh, please, Anwyll. We're well past formalities, don't you think? Just call me Lorne.” The Prince smirked as he immediately settled into the knight’s lap. He leaned in close, playfully biting Anwyll’s ear as he continued in a softer whisper, “I'll have you screaming it soon enough.” 

Anwyll clearly had enough of the Prince’s relentless teasing. He let go all sense of status and decorum and held Lorne by the back of his neck, hungrily pressing their lips together. 

The Prince squirmed impatiently in Anwyll’s arms as he gladly returned the kiss. He spent his whole life being coddled and handled like he was some delicate flower. While he enjoyed being spoiled, Lorne absolutely hated being treated as though he were weak, so he was perfectly happy to get a little manhandled every now and again. 

But despite Anwyll’s initial modesty, Lorne was certainly not disappointed with the rest of their evening together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne is a goddamn fuckboy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, at least, much shorter than what I usually do, but I feel like it reveals enough of what I needed to show about my trash son, so here ya go.

After sharing a very long bath with Sir Anwyll Guerin, Lorne returned to his quarters alone. The knight insisted that it would be best if he didn't stay the night, and Lorne didn't push the matter, since he already had what he was after. The Prince did, however, make Anwyll promise that that they would see each other again. The knight swore it on his honor, and that was good enough for Lorne.

Relaxed, confident, and aching in all the right places, Lorne walked through the castle halls with a slight swagger in his step. As he approached his chambers, however, he was shoved suddenly from behind, causing him to stumble forward. 

Once he caught his balance, the Prince whipped around with a fire in his eyes, ready to lash out at whoever would dare lay their hands on him. The culprit, it seemed, was a young woman dressed in evening finery. Her gown was made of lavender silk, complemented by gold jewelry and golden eyeshadow that shimmered brightly over her warm, bronze skin tone. She wore her long, dark hair pulled back with small clusters of lilac woven into the strands. Even as she stood tall, arms angrily folded over her chest, Lorne's frown morphed into a wide grin as he glanced over his assailant. 

Before he could say anything, she demanded, “Where have you been?” 

“I had a bath,” he simply replied. It was the truth, although, he chose to omit several crucial details. “Smell my hair. I used a new soap, and--” 

She cut him off by lightly swatting his cheek. “I saw you flirting with that swordsman at the party.” 

“Ashe, darling,” Lorne slid an arm around her waist. “There's no need for jealousy. Yes, I was trying to charm him, but only because I need a favor. I decided he'll be my tutor. He’ll teach me to fight with a sword.” 

She didn't pull away, but Ashe skeptically raised an eyebrow at him. “Your mother has allowed this?” 

“Of course not!” As they spoke, he began to lead her down the hall again. “That's why I approached him myself. My parents absolutely cannot know about this.” 

“Can this man be trusted, though? You only just met him,” Ashe pointed out. “He could give you away before your lessons even begin.” 

“I'm not worried,” Lorne shrugged. “He's a knight. They're all about honor and duty. If he's loyal to me, then I don't believe he'll tell anyone.” 

Ashe fell silent, but by the look on her face, the Prince could tell she still seemed unconvinced. He suddenly paused and moved in front of her, setting both hands on her shoulders as he looked her in the eyes. “It's worth the risk. I swear. Once I learn how to fight, I can take care of myself - of _us._ ” 

There was a slight glimmer of hope in her eyes as she listened to him speak. “Do you really think that's possible? One day, we can just get up and leave the castle?” 

“Of course it is!” he reassured with a confident grin. “We'll pack up our things and go anywhere we want. We can be together and no one would be able to stop us. I won't have to live in my brother's shadow, and you'll be free from your father's expectations. It'll be a perfect life - the two of us free and together.” 

Ashe smiled warmly as she gently placed a hand on the cheek she had slapped just moments ago, gently stroking her thumb over Lorne's skin. “You have such big dreams. I do hope you will make them come true.” 

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the Prince’s lips. Lorne’s hands moved down to hold her gently by the waist, pausing to enjoy the moment before he pulled away. “But you didn't come all this way to hear me drone on and on, did you?” 

“No,” she said plainly. “I came to slap you, and now that is done.” 

“So what is it then? Mission accomplished, now you'll retreat back to your wing of the castle?” 

“Yes.” 

“All alone?” 

“That's the plan.” 

“Or you could stay here with me,” Lorne suggested, nudging her towards his chamber doors, which were finally in sight. He was suddenly glad that Anwyll didn't stay the night with him, after all. Lorne hadn't expected to encounter Ashe so abruptly on his way back to his bedroom. 

“I'm not sure,” she sighed over-dramatically. “I'm still in my fine gown with nothing to change into for the morning.” 

“Oh, please. It wouldn't be your first early-morning slog from my chambers in last night's clothes, and I'm sure it won't be the last.” 

Ashe ignored his words as she continued in a huff, “This fine gown, wasted on someone who couldn't even be bothered to save me a dance at the party.” 

Lorne rolled his eyes. “A dance? Really? If that's all you want, we'll dance together in my chambers. We can dance all night ‘til morning, if you want.” 

She idly glanced to the side and put a hand to her lips as she replied with a bored yawn. “I'm tired.” 

“My bed is _right_ there.” Lorne gestured to his door with a wide sweep of his arm. 

This time, she remained silent and simply gave Lorne a challenging glare. The Prince looked back at her with his eyebrows knit in frustration. He knew she was just toying with him, but to what end? 

Suddenly, the gears in his head clicked into place. With a sly grin, he took her hands into his and lifted them to his lips. “Ashe, my darling,” he began, peppering kisses over the back of her fingers, “I have been negligent this evening, I know, and it would be an honor and a privilege to be given the chance to make all that up to you.” 

Ashe paused thoughtfully as she glanced over Lorne, processing his barely sincere apology. He never actually said the words “I'm sorry” whenever he was in the wrong, but he figured it was the sentiment that mattered. 

“All right, fine,” she sighed and stepped towards Lorne's room. “You had better impress me.” 

Lorne gladly followed her into his chambers, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Ashe seemed quite eager to get her hands on him, despite her earlier attempts to seem indifferent. In that moment, the Prince felt a wave of gratitude. He was grateful that he chose to meet Anwyll in the bath so that he could immediately refresh himself when they were finished, for the knight choosing to leave immediately after, for the fact that he had enough charm to bed two people in one night, and most importantly, for his youth, and that he still had the stamina to keep up with Ashe even after Anwyll wore him down. 

When they were both finally spent, they laid beside each other with Lorne's arm loosely curled under her. They enjoyed a moment of peaceful silence, until Ashe finally spoke up, “You’re right, you know.” 

“Of course I am,” he naturally replied. After a brief pause, he asked, “About what?” 

“What you said about leaving the castle, that it'll be worth it,” she explained. “I hate that I have to leave first thing in the morning. Your mother is so demanding.” 

“You don't need to tell me,” Lorne snorted. “But she has plenty of other ladies. What does it matter if just one shows up late?” 

“I'm not going to chance it. For now, we'll do what we must, and then someday, we can find our own place together,” she said with a content sigh. “We can wake up together and lie in bed all day with no obligations, no Queen to push us around and tell us what to do, no parents arranging marriages to total strangers…” 

“Sounds nice,” Lorne agreed through a yawn. It had been a busy day for him, and he was quite exhausted. 

There was a brief pause before Ashe continued, “Lorne? When we run off together, do you think we'd be able to marry each other?” 

Lorne's eyes snapped wide open at the suggestion. If he didn't know better, he would have thought his heart stopped and his soul left his body all in that moment. He didn't want to upset Ashe by hesitating too long, so he quickly sputtered out a response, “Well, don't you see? That's the beauty of it all. We don't have to marry anyone, or do anything that's expected of us. We can just be together.” 

“I suppose,” she sighed with a hint of disappointment in her voice. 

Lorne released a heavy breath, relieved she didn't push the matter further. Perhaps it was just the way his mother raised him, but the idea of marriage and - heaven forbid - children, was completely terrifying for him. Thankfully, this wasn't a problem he'd have to deal with for a very long time, if at all. He hadn't even asked Anwyll for lessons yet, so there would still be quite some time until he could even think about leaving his family. 

For now, he simply relaxed and enjoyed what pleasures he did have in the meantime. Tired and satisfied, it didn't take long before the couple drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Aww, we're you hoping for a filthy, smutty sex scene? Fear not! I've got you covered. Check out my "add-on" scene [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8871571)!!!


End file.
